For Once and For All
by madmbutterfly713
Summary: Written by Fischy. Full summary inside. Nightclub has been working as a newsboy for years. He has made a good life for himself, but recent events bring back his painful past.
1. Chapter 1

**Full Summary: Nightclub has been working as a newsboy for years. He has made a good life for himself, but recent events bring back his painful past that he has kept secret from his friends. But now he is being hunted down, and it may be time for him to tell a friend, but who can he trust? Sometimes secrets are meant to be told. The feeling of this one may change or end Nightclub's life.**

**Author's Note: Heh. I'm not the author, actually. It's my friend Fischy's story, but her dad won't let her get an account. So just know that this is not my work, but hers.**

**Disclaimer: Neither Fischy or I own Newsies or any part of this story. Only Nightclub, Twist, Jitter, Mr. Stapid, and Smithy. And anything else you may not recognize. And we don't really legally own them, but don't take them or we'll hunt you down and bite your legs off.**

Nightclub awoke to a dull ache spreading through his body. He heard a few sleepy chortles and found that he was lying on the rough wood floor next to his bunk in the Lodging House. He groaned and stood, rubbing his sore back and climbed back into his bed, cursing the floor.

"You weren't lyin' when ya said ya was always clumsy," came a sleepy voice from the bunk above. "You just _had_ to be a klutz and fall out of the blasted bed."

"Sorry, Spot. You can stop your jawing; the floor has punished me enough," Nightclub muttered, snuggling under the sheets, desperate to gain a few more minutes of sleep before Smithy came to make him get ready for work. He heard the creak of bedsprings as Spot sat up and stretched above him.

"It's hopeless," Spot said defeatedly, "Smithy will be up soon to wake everyone up." He sank back into his bed but lay with his eyes open. Sure enough, a moment later Nightclub heard Smithy hobbling up the stairs. He shuffled across the room, rousing the Brooklyn newsies by any means necessary, going so far to actually tickle Jitter's feet so that he leaped a foot in the air, almost falling off his bunk. Nightclub chuckled and stretched, found his clothes, and headed for the shower.

After he finished bathing and dressing, Nightclub went to find his suspenders, money, and cap. As he passed through the washroom he met, or to put a finer point on it, collided with Spot. Apparently, someone had been having a little too much fun with the soap. White foam was smeared across Spot's face. The poor boy was wandering around the washroom, groping wildly, his eyes tightly closed so that he didn't get any suds in them.

"Would someone _please_ pass the towel?" he demanded.

"For two bits, I'll consider," said Nightclub, pushing his soapy face away and continuing towards his own bunk below Spot's.

When everyone was dressed, they ran outside to goof-off in the streets until the circulation bell rang. Spotting Spot among the many newsies milling about the streets, Nightclub was struck by one of his frequent urges to pick a playful fight with him. He jogged towards his target and planted himself in front of him.

"Hey pal," he said with a mischievous grin.

"Shove off," said Spot good naturedly, then, spotting his friend's look, added, "Uh oh." Nightclub snatched Spot's cap off his head and then danced out of harms way. He ran as slowly as he dared, staying just out of reach. His strides were long, fluid, strong, and he took up the ground effortlessly. When he knew that Spot was tiring, he "let 'er rip," as Jitter would say, and moved into full speed, just to annoy him.

The circulation bell rang and Nightclub raced back to where Spot stood panting.

"Thanks. I've been in need of a new cap," Nightclub said as they walked towards the distribution booth. "It's a good fit. You must have a tiny head if it fits me."

Spot grinned and snatched Nightclub's cap out of his hands.

"Hey, you might be a lot younger, but you're really tall. You're only half a head shorter than me," Spot shot back. This was true. Nightclub was tall for age ten. "Besides, maybe it's you that has the big head."

"Oh, aren't you clever, Pinhead," Nightclub snapped. "For that I'm going to hold your hat hostage." Spot pretended to look worried as he said sarcastically, "Oh, don't worry, Cap. I'll help you escape his clutches."

They arrived at the pape distribution booth and Nightclub fell into line behind his fellow newsies. Spot stood in front of him and behind Nightclub stood seven-year-old Squeak who was currently tugging on Nightclub's suspenders.

"What do you want from me?" Nightclub asked, pretending to be annoyed.

"What's a hostage?" Squeak asked innocently.

"Oh now, it's not polite to eavesdrop," said Spot, turning to face him.

"What were you just doing then? I wasn't speaking to you," Nightclub laughed, aware that Squeak was once again pulling on his suspenders to regain his attention. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten you."

"What's eavesdropping?" questioned Squeak, looking from Nightclub to Spot then back again.

"In answer to your first question, a hostage is like an enemy's captive and eavesdrop –" Squeak interrupted him.

"You and Spot are enemies?" he said tearfully. "I always thought you were pals." Nightclub would have laughed if Squeak didn't look so distraught.

"We _are_ pals," Spot said, putting an arm on Nightclub's shoulders. "We were just goofing around and eavesdropping is listening in on another person's conversation," he explained, pushing Squeak's cap down past his eyes. Squeak smiled sheepishly and adjusted his cap, satisfied now that all of his questions had been answered.

The line had moved up by now, and about half of the newsies had already bought their papes. Marbles had just bought his and waved at Nightclub before sitting down to leaf through his papes.

Jitter was paying for his papes. As he picked them up he must have felt that he was being observed, for he turned around, his hazel eyes searching the crowd. Nightclub raised his hand and beckoned to him. Jitter walked down the ramp and came to a stop beside the raised platform which Nightclub stood.

"I thought I was being watched," he said, adjusting his grip on his papes so that he wouldn't drop them, which he did often.

"Yeah, you were. How many papes did you get?" asked Nightclub; Jitter didn't usually buy too many, but today he carried a larger stack.

"Sixty," he said proudly. "Hey, that's not your cap, what happened to your old one?"

"Spot and I, uh, 'traded'," Nightclub. Jitter nodded knowingly, shaking his shaggy blonde hair out of his eyes. "You mean you stole Spot's cap so he stole yours, right?"

"Something like that, yeah," said Nightclub with a grin. "Fair is fair. I guess." Jitter was now leafing through his papes, reading parts of articles and frowning slightly.

"Do we gots a good headline today?" Nightclub asked him. Jitter shook his head. "Same as yesterday, and the day before and the day before that, and the day –"

"Okay, I get it, same headline," Nightclub cut in.

"They're only covering the trolley strike," Jitter said. "I wonder if they'll give up any time soon." Nightclub shrugged.

"They'd better not, they should finish the fight they started. If they don't, everyone will _know_ that people like us can never accomplish anything."

"Are you going to tell me how many papers you want or am I going to have to stand here all day waiting for you two to finish your conversation?" snapped an agitated Mr. Stapid, the pape distributor. Nightclub gave him one of those looks that scorches. Stapid didn't like the newsies, and the newsies didn't like him in turn.

"Hundred papes," said Nightclub, slamming two quarter dollars. A man behind Stapid shoved Nightclub's papes at him. Nightclub sneered and took his papes.

"You would think _we_ made him work there from the way he acts," said Jitter jerking his head toward Stapid once they were out of earshot. "Stapid hates it, but he isn't even trying to get a job somewhere else." Nightclub shook his head in mock despair.

"Ah, well, tough luck for us I guess. I think I better get selling." Jitter nodded his head in agreement.

"Alright, catch ya later."

Nightclub raced down the streets to his favorite selling spot near a square with a large copper statue of a roaring lion. Once he got there he began waving a pape in the air, calling, "Trolley Strikers Create Fire, Whole Building Destroyed." But as he sold, he had the most peculiar feeling that he was being watched.

XXXXXX

It was late afternoon by the time that Nightclub sold the last of his papes. He ran all the way to Brooklyn's best place: the docks by the Brooklyn Bridge, across from the lodging house. As he strode towards the docks, he recognized a familiar figure.

Spot was perched on his tower of crates, looking out over his fellow newsies and the river. His long brown hair, blonde on the top, fluttered across his face in the gusty breeze. One thumb as hooked in his pocket next to his long black cane which hung through a belt loop. The other was resting lightly on a wooden slingshot in his other pocket. The wind tugged on his checkered off-white and brown shirt. Around his neck hung a large skeleton key on a leather string. His bright, silvery blue eyes seemed to be fixed on something that only he could see and he appeared to be deep in thought. His head was held high, as it always was, with confidence and pride. He had a rebellious, defiant, and independent air that demanded respect and was a stereotype for all of the Brookies. Because they carried themselves this way, most people respected them from the moment they saw them. This respected air was most obvious in Spot. This was probably why Spot Conlon was the most famous and respected newsie in New York.

Nightclub climbed partway up the tower, and called to his friend. Spot started and looked down at Nightclub, he'd been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed him approaching.

"What were you thinkin' 'bout?" Nightclub asked him.

"Nothing," said Spot with a sigh. Although the way he'd said it hadn't suggested it, Nightclub had a feeling that he had been thinking about him. He felt defensive as he wondered whether Spot knew his secret. He quickly banished this idea. Only he himself knew. Only him. _Only_ him?

"I think I'll go for a swim," Spot announced. "Would you like to join me?"

"What do you think?" asked Nightclub. "Or don't you?"

"How come you never swim?" Spot questioned, brandishing his cane at him.

"Same reason I told you the last time you asked me that," Nightclub replied.

"Well, I still don't believe that it's because you can't swim. All Brookies can swim," Spot spat as he cannonballed into the cold river. Several other newsies swam over to meet him and they conversed, treading water. Nightclub looked pointedly away. He often felt that he was betraying his friends by hiding so much from them but he would have to live with the guilt, for to tell anyone would make things so much worse.

"For all I know, one of them could be working for _him_ as a spy, or I might have already been found out and he's just biding his time," thought Nightclub as the familiar bubble of fear and mistrust rose up inside of him as it always did when he thought of his secret. He felt like a traitor, not being able to really trust his friends and although he could never imagine any of them ever betraying him, he couldn't tell them. Doing so would put his life even further in jeopardy.

"Hey, Night, are you okay?" asked Twist, a tall, lanky boy with flaming red hair that stuck out in all directions, even through a hole in his cap.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I was just wondering about this trolley strike," Nightclub lied, knowing very well that Twist would see right through him. "We need a good headline and everyone's sick of hearing about it."

"Are ya sure that's what's bothering ya? Ya can tell me, ya know," said Twist, placing a hand on Nightclub's shoulder. "Ya can trust me, all of us."

"I know," said Nightclub, knowing all to well that this wasn't true. "I'll be okay."

"I don't believe you," said Twist, his bright green eyes searching the bright blue ones. "I know you, something's wrong; if it was serious, you would tell me, right?"

"Yeah," Nightclub said, "if it was really bothering me I'd let you know, but it's really nothing." Twist studied his face a moment longer then nodded curtly and walked away.

"Look at that," Nightclub thought, somewhat disgusted with himself. He had just flat out lied to his friend, just as he had been doing to all his friends for the three years that he'd been a newsie. Nightclub hated lying, especially to those he cared about and who in turn cared about him.

Nightclub was very fond of Twist. He was deep and good at reading people. He often said (in his modest way) that his first impression of a person had never been wrong yet. He noticed things that others didn't, small details that were easily over looked. He was somewhat distant from the other newsies mostly because when you spoke to him it was though the soul of an ancient man with all the wisdom of his years was residing inside the body of a mere boy.

Jitter was similar to Twist in some ways. He was clever and a deep thinker and could learn a great deal about an individual just by watching. But the thing that made Jitter different from Twist was that he did not seem to be an old man trapped inside a boy's body unless you were having a very down-to-earth conversation. He was cheerful and more jovial than aloof Twist, but both possessed maturity beyond their years.

Nightclub sat at the edge of the dock and dangled his feet in the water. He gazed down at his distorted reflection and saw a small boy of ten gazing back at him. His cheek bones stuck out and his cheeks hollowed to his paper-thin skin stretched tightly over them. He had developed dark shadows under his sunken eyes. He was under so much stress and wasn't eating enough, and therefore was dangerously under-weight, but some of his features remained the somewhat the same.

His blue eyes still glittered brightly and his hair was still a brownish-blonde, the color of wet sand, but even these normal features had been distorted. His eyes no longer showed contentment and happiness, but guarded secrecy, like locked doors, preventing anyone to see what lay within. His hair was shorter now, long like Spot's, but shorter than it used to be. It hung lank in his eyes, so he kept it tucked up inside his cap.

Nightclub looked away from his reflection and headed towards the local nightclub. He went there every night to listen to music. He was enraptured by the instruments, the saxophones in particular. His nightly visits to listen to the lively music earned him his name. After an hour or two of music he would go down to the docks and swim for a while by night when nobody could see him. He could then wander the streets for a while to dry off and return to the Lodging House. His friends would usually be asleep by then and even if they did hear him return, they assumed he had been at the nightclub the whole time.

As he rounded a corner, he stole one last glance at his fellow newsies. This was as close to family as he was going to get. He had no real family left, only a brother, and he didn't know what had become of him. He could be dead or alive for all he knew, and had long since given up ever finding him. If only Nightclub could know that his brother was alive, wondering the same thing.


	2. Chapter 2

_Two bodies. Two painfully familiar bodies, lying as still as stone in their cold cushioned new homes. Alex reached for his father's icy hand. But the deep brown eyes didn't light up with warmth like they used to when Alex sought his comfort. They remained closed. A single tear slid slowly down Alex's cheek as a hand gripped his shoulder, steering him to the next casket. _

_In this coffin lay his mother, her beautiful blonde hair resting on her shoulders. Her hazel eyes were closed, like her husband's. Alex took her hand and gave it one last squeeze before allowing himself to be led away, whispering a goodbye as he left. _

_He followed his brother to a towering oak tree. When his brother turned to face him, Alex noticed that his face was tear-stained as well. _

_"What do we do, Anthony?" Alex asked his sibling._

_"What father told us," said Anthony, tears welling up in his deep brown eyes. "We stick together." Alex nodded and asked, "But what about food? And a home?"_

_"We can live with other families," Anthony said, wincing. The word family seemed to cause him physical pain. "We'll stay with one family for a week and then move to another." Alex whimpered as Anthony pulled him close into a hug. Tears rolled silently down their cheeks as the crisp spring breeze cooled them. _

_There was a flash of brilliant light and a new scene was taking place. _

_Now it was the dead of night. Alex and Anthony were creeping along a dusty street when two large, burly men appeared out of nowhere. One carried a knife, and the other, a club._

_"Hand it over _now _street rat," said Club Man, staring straight at Anthony. "Hand it over or you'll regret it."_

_Alex glanced confusedly at Anthony. What did this man mean? What were they supposed to hand over? He attempted to catch his brother's eye, but Anthony's attention was focused upon the advancing thugs. Alex awaited his brother's instructions._

_"I don't have it with me," Anthony said, backing away._

_"Then you've chosen to regret it," Club Man growled, and he swung his bat at Alex's only kin. _

_"Cheese it!" cried Anthony, and he fled with Club Man on his tail. Alex turned to make his escape but a hand grabbed him by the hair and yanked him back. Knife Man pulled Alex's arms behind his back and a sharp blade pricked against his throat._

_"Give me one reason," Knife Man hissed in Alex's ear. The blade slid slightly across his throat as the wrist began to apply pressure to sever his jugular vein. He unleashed a scream that tore through his throat._

"Get up! Carry the banner!" cried Smithy, the keeper of the Newsboy's Lodging House. "Thank you Nightclub for getting everyone up, but the yelling wasn't necessary." Nightclub woke with a start and sat up so fast he hit his head on the bunk above. He collapsed back into his pillow, and rolled onto his chest, panting heavily and his heart racing.

Smithy shuffled out of the room, having successfully roused most of the newsies. He was a large, elderly man who had a strange assortment of clothing. He wore a brown vest over his stained hunter green shirt. His pepper gray pants looked several sizes to big for him, for they bunched up around his ankles and were held up by a long piece of frizzy twine that reached his knees. He had a large, hooked nose, beady brown eyes, and his ears stuck out farther than normal. His lips were turtle-like; long, thin, and pointed in the middle. A green top hat with an orange ribbon was perched on top of his long, wiry gray hair. His olive green tie was tied above his shoulder so that it hung down his back rather than down his chest and completed the peculiar picture.

The newsies had begun their preparation for work and many weary groans were heard. Nightclub, however, was not ready to get up; his dream was still fresh in his mind. He had dreams like that often, dreams of his past. He had been six when his parents left him and seven when he was separated from his brother and began his life as a newsie. His dreams forced him to relieve the horrors of his past often, too often. Nightclub gave an inward shudder and buried his face in his pillow.

Spot slid off his bunk and landed with a thud beside him. A moment later he was being prodded sharply in the ribs by Spot's cane.

"Get up Nightclub, you great lazy lump," Spot ordered, stretching.

"No," Nightclub groaned, drawing his thoughts away from his dreams, "leave me alone or your cap gets it." He still had the cap, for Spot hadn't managed to swipe it yet.

"Come on Night, when are you gonna give it back?" Spot grumbled.

"The day I give it back is the day I need your help," Nightclub said with a smile. Spot sighed, taking this statement to mean, as Nightclub intended, that he _wouldn't_ be getting it back. He knew very well that Nightclub was highly independent and would never seek or accept his help. He wandered towards the washroom shaking his head.

After everyone had washed and dressed they streamed into the streets as usual to wait for the circulation bell. When it rang, Nightclub fell into line, bought his papes, and sat on the queue platform. He read the headline and groaned.

"Trolley Strike Drags on for Third Week," said a voice, quoting the front page's title. Nightclub looked up as Jitter sat down beside him. "People don't want to hear about the strike anymore. Don't they have anything better to write about?"

Nightclub nodded and said "Apparently not," as Marbles came to sit on Nightclub's other side.

"I heard you come in late last night," he said. "Where had you been?" Nightclub was surprised by his question. Everyone knew he visited the nightclub every evening. It was, after all, how he came to be christened "Nightclub." Of course he went swimming at the river front as well, but only he himself knew about that.

He was about to reply when Jitter spoke.

"J and J's Nightclub, where else, stupid?" Nightclub nodded his head, confirming Jitter's statement.

"Did you go anywhere else?" Marbles questioned further. Nightclub was becoming nervous; Marbles was obviously aware that he went somewhere else every night. But how could he?

"No," he said firmly. "Just J and J's and the Lodging House."

"Are you sure?" Although his tone was light and teasing, there was something about his would-be-casual voice that made Nightclub uneasy.

"I think Nightclub knows where he's been," said Jitter mildly, "unless he's been hit over the head with a rock and developed a serious case of amnesia."

"Why were your shoes wet?" Marbles inquired, ignoring Jitter. Nightclub's heart skipped a beat. He'd swam with his shoes on last night so that if trouble came he could get away quickly. His shoes were _always_ dry by morning. Marbles had to have been watching him, waiting for him. Nightclub couldn't tell whether he was just curious or if he was . . .

"Did you go for a swim? I thought you said you couldn't."

Nightclub took a deep, calming breath.

"I went to the docks and dipped my feet in the water, but I didn't swim." He gave a shudder to support his next statement. "Water scares those of us that aren't good swimmers. One wrong move and you're drowning. Are you done giving me the Third Degree?"

Marbles opened his mouth to say something but Jitter cut him off. "Come on fellas, we'd better get selling."

Nightclub nodded and stood quickly, glad for a reason for the conversation to end. When he was a good distance away, he cast a glance behind him and saw Marble's watching him through eyes narrowed in suspicion. Nightclub shivered despite the heat of the July sun and hurried to his selling spot.

XXX

Nightclub strode toward the docks humming a jazzy tune. He left J and J's Nightclub in high spirits, having spent the past hour or so being tantalized by the music he loved so much. It was dark now, around eleven o'clock, and the streets of Brooklyn were virtually deserted. As he made his way towards the docks, Nightclub stopped dead. He was being watched; he could feel it. His eyes shifted from shadow to shadow. He eventually concluded that he was imagining things and continued towards the docks.

When he came to the end of the dock he shed his vest so it wouldn't weigh him down as it would if he swam with it on. He then kicked off his shoes and took his (well, Spot's) cap off and shook out his hair. He placed these items near the edge of the dock on a crate. He glanced at his surroundings. He just couldn't shake the feeling that a pair of unseen eyes were upon him. Once again pushing the feeling aside, Nightclub shoved the heavy crate to the end of the pier so he had room to dive off the end. As he did so, he heard a surprised yell and a splash. He realized with a jolt that his observer had been behind the wooden crate; Nightclub had just pushed them into the river's dark, icy depths.

**Author's Note: Much love to Cinnamon Spice, mushlover4ever, and reject187! Now all the rest of you get up off your lazy bums and review, or the Authoress and her official story typer upper will be forced to bite your legs off!**


	3. Chapter 3

Without a second though, Nightclub plunged into the river. He immediately recognized the bobbing head (presumably attached to a body) fighting against the current. Although they didn't appear to be in dire need of help, the water was deep, and the current swift. Nightclub grabbed the boy's collar and kicked out strongly, pulling him to the rope ladder hanging from the docks he hoisted himself out of the water and the boy followed.

Once he was out of the water the boy collapsed on the wood. Fighting against the river had sapped him of his energy. He rolled onto his back and stared at the starry sky above. His wet shirt clung to his chest, rising and falling in time with his deep, ragged breathing.

"Are you . . . okay?" Nightclub panted.

The boy shrugged. "I'll live, but I feel like a human ice cube."

"You nearly gave me a heart attack!" Nightclub gasped as he pulled his shoes on.

"Heart attack? Ha! I've head worse. Can you say 'hypothermia'?" The boy laughed. He had yet to look at Nightclub, and his eyes were fixed on the waxing moon at the moment.

"You were spying on me!" Nightclub said in an accusatory tone.

The boy gave a derisive laugh and glanced at him for the first time since he'd left the water. "Look, Nightcl—"He did a double take; realizing what he was seeing.

Nightclub gave a start and came back to his senses. His heart skipped a beat and he fled.

He ran into an alley and proceeded to bang his head against the rough brick wall. The boy had seen him, realized that Nightclub wasn't who he claimed to be. Would the boy tell? What would Nightclub do if he did? Should he talk to him about it? Beg him to keep his secret? Explain the whole thing?

No. That wouldn't do. Nightclub would just have to hope that the boy would keep quiet. Who could the boy tell anyway? Who would care about Nightclub's identity?

That was answered easily enough. _He_ would care. _He_ would pay a great deal, in cash or lives, it mattered not to Him. To discover where Nightclub was hiding, find him, and make him suffer was all he wanted.

But the boy couldn't be in league with him. He'd known him for ages; he wouldn't betray him, would he? There was nothing Nightclub could do about it, any way. He could only hope the boy would hold his tongue.

Once Nightclub gained a grip on himself he went back home to the Lodging House.

He eased the door open and tiptoed silently across the room, taking care to be as quiet as possible near Marble's bed. He found his own bunk and eased himself onto it, the springs just barley squeaking under his small weight. The mattress above him groaned as Spot sat up for a moment then lay back down.

Nightclub sighed and buried his face into his pillow. He wouldn't sell papes tomorrow, that much was certain. He would go to Manhattan to get away from the boy for a day and let things die down a bit. He had heard of a nightclub down there he wanted to investigate anyway. He could take the day off to pay a visit and no one would think anything of it. He'd mentioned his wish to visit it before.

And there was a slim chance that the boy hadn't recognized Nightclub for what he was. He might have deduced that it was a trick of the light or some other plausible explanation.

And with that thought to calm him, Nightclub fell into a troubled sleep filled with creeping shadows.

"_Give me one good reason," Knife Man whispered threateningly in Alex's ear. "I dare you."_

_Alex desperately wanted to get away and find Anthony so he wouldn't have to face death alone. But he was paralyzed with fear, and even if he wasn't, he couldn't move much with a knife at his throat and his arms pulled behind his back. He _had_ to break free. Suddenly, he remembered his brother, his only family, and it gave him the strength to set aside his fear._

_"I love dares," he told Knife Man matter-of-factly and, with that, his fear-induced paralysis evaporated._

_He sank his teeth into the wrist clutching the knife and his attacker's grip slackened for a moment. Alex flung his arms up, freeing himself._

_Knife Man advanced again, dagger in hand, his face screwed up in a roar of anguish. Alex's mind raced. If he could get rid of the knife, it would be much easier to escape. As he wrestled to free the dagger from his attacker's grasp he was beat up pretty badly and sustained some cuts and could already feel the area around his eye begin to swell. Instead of deterring him, this drove him on. He gave Knife Man a final blow to the head, his blue eyes flashing with rage, and wrenched the knife out of his attacker's hands, threw it from him, and disappeared into the night._

Nightclub awoke without disturbing the other newsies for once, but again his heart raced with fear. Glancing around the room he saw that Marbles was watching him curiously. Almost as soon as Nightclub had registered this, Marbles wiped the look off his face, replacing it with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. Nightclub smiled back nervously and rose out of bed, watching him out of the corner of his eye.

He hurried to dress before the other Newsies awoke so he could leave for Manhattan without too many questions. As he headed to the washroom Spot and Snaps awoke.

"I'm goin' to Manhattan for the day, I want to check out a nightclub there," Nightclub announced.

"When did you decide this?" Spot inquired.

"Last night," Nightclub replied truthfully.

"I'm glad you put so much thought into it then," remarked Snaps sarcastically. "You don't ever rush into anything."

Snaps was a rather short boy of sixteen with light blonde hair and a long pointed nose. He was not a very warm person, not purposely hurtful, but not particularly friendly to new people. It took a long time for him to trust most people, so it was surprising that Nightclub earned his trust within a month.

Nightclub was in Manhattan in no time, having jogged the whole way. Glimpsing at a sign over a small building that read "The Nightingale" he stopped to see what hours it was open. As he moved away from the door he heard shouts. He followed the sound and met a curious sight.

The Manhattan newsies had gathered in the square, around a large statue of Horace Greeley. They were all shouting in response to what a lone figure, standing on the monument, was saying.

Nightclub didn't know it at the time, but the boy on the statue was Jack "Cowboy" Kelly who would become an ally in battle in the days to come.

A boy at the front of the crowd asked something of Jack who said, "Then we'll talk with 'em."

"Some of 'em don't hear so good!" another boy said.

"Well then we'll soak 'em!"

A boy with dark curly hair, who Nightclub would later find to be named David, darted forward to contradict Jack. Nightclub approached a newsie at the back of the crowd who wore an eye patch.

"Hey, you," he said, tapping him on the shoulder.

"I have a name," the boy said, glancing at him. "Kid Blink."

Blink had sandy blonde hair and a single green eye. He wore a loose fitting shirt and an eye patch, both of which would be passable as pirate apparel.

"Blink, then," said Nightclub, regaining his attention. "What's going on? I'm not from around here."

Blink turned to face him. "Pulitzer and Hurst, that's what's going on. They jacked up the price. We're going on strike. Where are you from, anyway?"

"Brooklyn," replied Nightclub. A nervous look flickered across Blink's face.

"Brooklyn, eh?" he said. "Spot Conlon territory, then?"

"Yeah," Nightclub confirmed. "We're real good pals. He actually sleeps on the bunk above mine."

Blink drew in a long breath through his cigar. "Huh," he muttered. Nightclub could tell he was impressed, even if he was too proud to show it. The Brooklynites were the most famous and respected newsies. They rose up above the others, working as one strong unit that could beat any odds, a powerful and valuable asset. Spot Conlon, as their leader, was really the only newsie known abroad by name. With their slingshots and easy, powerful confidence the other newsies were in awe of them all.

Blink turned his attention back to Cowboy and a moment later he had joined the sea of newsboys.

Jack climbed down from the headline board and stood with David in front of Pulitzer's office and began giving orders. When David told him he would need ambassadors, Cowboy relayed the information to the other newsies, telling them to be "ambastards." Nightclub snorted; this "Cowboy" did _not_ have an extensive vocabulary.

He assigned groups of newsies to visit various boroughs of New York. Many volunteered to go, or, at least, accepted their borough cheerfully until he got to Brooklyn.

"Alright, uh, Brooklyn. Who wants Brooklyn?" Cowboy called out. All of the Manhattan newsies looked away, scratching their heads or taking sudden interest in things like clouds or a cracked cobblestone.

"What's the matter, you guys scared of Brooklyn?" Jack asked. Everyone, Nightclub included, knew that the honest answer was "yes", but it was not considered brave or manly to be afraid. To be afraid was cowardice.

"Hey, we ain't scared of Brooklyn!" a small boy named Boots exclaimed. "It's just, Spot Conlon makes us a little . . . nervous."

Nightclub smiled. Try as Manhattan might there was no denying it, they were scared of Brooklyn, and Spot in particular.

It was eventually decided that Jack, Boots, and David would go to Brooklyn. As Jack swung open the doors of Pulitzer's office Nightclub realized that he would have to go home right away. Jack would probably make his trip to Brooklyn tomorrow and he wanted to give Spot ample time to consider Manhattan's proposition.

Leaning up against Greeley's statue was a boy who had realized what Nightclub had not. As the boy remembered, he wanted to shout with joy as well as fear for finally finding him, even after he had given up all hope.

**Author's Note: Much love to Tutleluver256, reject187, muchluver4ever, Garen Ruy Maxwell, and Cinnamon Spice! Now review or the autheress and her official story-typer-uper will hunt you down and bite your legs off!**


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